


rue

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 21:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: “So you did… this?” Doom runs his other hand down Paradox’ cheek, down his neck and over his shoulder. It’s so hot with excess energy where it doesn’t hold form properly. Is he like that under the rest of his clothes as well? Is he just a shell of clothes with nothing within to conserve energy? “How is this any better?”





	rue

“What the fuck were you thinking?!”

Doom’s strike is fast and hard, like each and every blow of his. Within a blink, he has Paradox slammed against the wall, the time traveler not even flinching. His eyes are too deep and too troubled to fit the childish face they lay on, and they only darken as Doom raises a fist, ready to punch the fair skin.

A millisecond, or maybe he’d done it eons ago, before Doom’s fist can make contact, Paradox shatters into nothing, slipping from Doom’s hold like sand through an hourglass.

Doom hits the wall, ruining it with a sickening crunch. Paradox rematerializes behind him, flickering with white and pink and purple and too much to look at. “You can’t land a hand on me anymore,” he says, a simple observation, a statement with flat tone.

Doom grits his teeth, twisting on his heel. Something is etched on his face, pain or confusion, Paradox isn’t sure. His hands tremble where he squeezes them into tight fists, but he doesn’t throw another punch. He isn’t angry at Paradox, not particularly.

Instead he surges forward, grabbing one of Paradox’ too-small hands in one of his. Oh Goddess he feels so small now. Why is he doing this to him?

“I can,” he growls. There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, clinging to his lashes, but he refuses to let them fall. “Why’d you do this to yourself?”

Paradox laughs, eyes softening as he looks down at their joined hands. He doesn’t pull away from Lusa’s warm hold. “A physical body was too limiting,” he says, like he’s confessing a deep secret. “It was dying. It couldn’t do what I wanted it to.”

“So you did… this?” Doom runs his other hand down Paradox’ cheek, down his neck and over his shoulder. It’s so hot with excess energy where it doesn’t hold form properly. Is he like that under the rest of his clothes as well? Is he just a shell of clothes with nothing within to conserve energy? “How is this any better?”

Paradox’ lips quirk up. He looks so much like he had when he had been a tracer, it makes Doom paranoid it’s not really him, that he’d somehow got tangled up in Esper’s time shenanigans and this is Time and not Paradox. But the hand that comes up to adjust his hood is unmistakably larger now, no longer dwarfed by Doom’s.

“I’m so much closer to returning, Doom,” Paradox tells him, and it’s a proper face staring at him now, no longer a child, no longer soft, but instead harder, longer, more devious. Paradox’ hair is all over the place, maybe that’s why he prefers the childish form, or maybe it’s just because it makes me feel like he’s back with mother, like he hasn’t been away for years.

“And when you manage it,” Doom starts, fighting with the lump in his throat. He’s still gripping Paradox’ hand, the right size now, fitting perfectly within his own. “What then? Will you just abandon us?”

That seems to have caught Paradox off guard. “I—” His brows crease and he looks away. Even if his body is no longer real, he still behaves as if it were. His shoulders are tense and then start to flicker away under Doom’s gaze.

“No, stay right here,” he says, gripping Paradox’ hand tighter. “You don’t have to do each conversation over.”

Paradox grits his teeth, making a weird clicking sound. “I don’t… know.”

He flickers again, but before Doom could open his mouth to try and keep Paradox where he is, he just shifts back into the child, hand small in Doom’s hold again. Ever since he’d first done it, it’d become more comfortable.

“Think about it, kiddo,” Doom jabs, leaning down to kiss the crown of Paradox’ head. It’d feel weird to kiss his lips when he looks like a child, so Doom doesn’t. Instead he wraps his arms around the small frame and crushes it against his chest.

Paradox curls up right there, arms that Doom could break with no effort wrapping back around him as well. He doesn’t say anything, though it’s obvious he’s comfortable.

Doom wonders how much further will this version of him hurt himself.


End file.
